A Brooklyn Culture Mafia
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- ..is that a scene emerging .or are you just happy to see me benedict arnold my hero blue balls in brooklyn brooklyn bestiary dasha nekrasova demonology does shaka knock one out to red scare do you think e-girl wanking like fuck all over her commie face fresh pond road hail girard hearts heal its not stalking its research jamaican voodoo gang from predator 2 on the outside looking in pass the rock pum pum portraits restraining order righteous narcissism shaved head vanguard simping for the revolution skidmarxism speaking on behalf of the working class sus is banging dasha the 20 hottest e-girls the colonies the water drinkers woke and broke xoxo
sus
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Nah, nudity wouldn't be a turn-on, the turn-on is that they think they're better than you, so they'll sexually reject you (in the hypothetical) which spurs your will to power, spurs your way up in the world
IdleRich
IdleRich
Well... not off the top of my head, no. But for me one of the main oppositions in the book is between the authentic fakes made by the main character (who obsessively creates new old masters) and the worthless originals in the contemporary scene. It's not as simple as the first being good and the second bad - cos the first is insane really and... well i think over the course of the book he changed his mind as to what it was about and so on... but that was something that really stuck out to me.
I like the scenes in parties which are pages and pages long of inane conversations overlapping. I like the way they're done and on but they don't represent those involved as particularly... smart. Although to write those scenes he must have closely observed the type, albeit with fascinated horror.
He was knocking around with the Beats for a while. He's in one of Kerouac's books.
linebaugh
Well-known member
Over this grandstand disposal of promise the waiters stared with a distance of glazed indulgence which all collected under it admired, as they admired the rudeness, which they called self-respect; the contempt, which they called innate dignity; the avarice, which they called self-reliance; the tasteless ill-made clothes on the men, lauded as indifference, and the farspaced posturings of haute couture across the Seine, called inimitable or shik according to one’s stay. Marvelous to wide eyes, pricked ears, and minds of that erectile quality betraying naive qualms of transatlantic origin (alert here under hair imitative long-grown, uncombed, on the male, curtly shorn on the girls) was this spectacle of culture fully realized. They regarded as the height of excellence that nothing remained to be done, no tree to be planted nor building torn down (they had not visited Le Bourget; found the wreckage up behind the Hôtel de Ville picturesque), no tree too low nor building too high (those telescoping lampposts on the Pont du Carrousel), no bud of possibility which had not opened in the permanent bloom of artificial flowers, no room for that growth which is the abiding flower of humility.
.....
Before their displacement from nature, baffled by the grandeur of their own culture which they could not define, and so believed did not exist, these transatlantic visitors had learned to admire in this neatly parceled definition of civilization the tyrannous pretension of many founded upon the rebellious efforts of a few, the ostentation of thousands presumed upon the strength of a dozen who had from time to time risen against this vain complacence with the past to which they were soon to contribute, giving, with their harried deaths, grounds for vanity of language, which they had perfected; supercilious posturing of intellect, which they had suffered to understand and deliver, in defiance; insolent arbitration of taste, grown from the efforts of those condemned as having none; contempt for others flourishing from seedlings which they had planted in the rain of contempt for themselves; dogmata of excellence founded upon insulting challenges wrought in impossible hope, and then grasped, for granted, from their hands fallen clenching it as dogma.
linebaugh
Well-known member
What about this one?
Spain is a land to flee across. Every town, and every capital, is a destination; and the names which ring with refuge to the fugitive mount with finality to him traveling relentlessly unpursued, setting destinations one after another whose reasons for being so cease upon arrival, and he must move on, to provide that interim of purpose with which each new destination endows the journey however short, and search each pause with reasons anxiously mistaken drawing nearer, with each destination, to the last
linebaugh
Well-known member
thats the charm. Early passages in the book I believe, though I have no proof, are expansions of early TS Eliot poems